Hi yall this was my Nationals Finals piece I submitted with my team (yayy shoutout love yall !!) anyways we didn’t win but my rubric was rlly high (it was only highs and very highs i think)
I honestly wish I had the other writings as well (I haven’t even read them) but mine was in the perspective of Dr Robbins, who was over relying on Nanotechnology, and after the technology failed, a girl died because of him. The other perspectives were the traditional doctor, the patient whose bestie died bc of the nanotech, and the patient’s mum.
WM20 Rebecca Zhang
(Read 1st)
Drive To Nanotechnology
The door shut behind him.
He stepped into the spotless room, a storm of thoughts clouding his head.
Was it really worth it?
Sighing, he sat down in his office chair, and immediately, the online workspace sprang up from the display tablet on his desk.
He made a blink-swipe gesture to begin.
Injury to left leg. Male, age 23. Responsive to pain. Has previously fractured bones in left leg.
blink-swipe
The system displayed another face for a moment, the injury profile flashing.
Then the holographic screen crashed.
Dr Robbins flinched.
Purple, blue, red stripes distorted the screen.
Profiles came filing in.
Human driven car accident. Male, age 32. Responsive to pain. Warnings: asthma prone, allergic to peanuts.
Human driven car accident. Female, age 16. Responsive to pain. Broken limbs in arms and legs.
Human driven car accident. Female, age 17. Non-responsive. Head injury, second degree burns to 15% of lower torso.
Each profile appeared for five seconds, then disappeared into the dark screen.
Frantic, Dr Robbins beckoned with his left hand to replay the profile. The virtual assistant did not budge.
The “work in progress” tab reappeared, then the “loading” screen.
Dr Robbins waited, heart pounding, from shock and horror. He waited for one minute, which turned into five, then into ten.
The loading screen illuminated the walls, casting shadows against the dark-lit room.
An emotionless, robotic voice boomed through the hospital.
“We are so sorry for the inconvenience. The online workspace is currently in shutdown mode. Please head to Estelpade Harbor, near 145th Street, to manually handle the situation.”
Helpless, Dr Robbins pushed the emergency button. It was weirdly terrifying to see more mechanical doctors than actual, living doctors.
The hospital’s drones buzzed out from their charging cables, each infused with Nanotrackers.
From his office, he controlled each helicopter drone.
The drones lagged forwards. They didn’t seem to be as alert as they usually are. Perhaps it was because of the workspace shutdown…
Sweat beaded on Dr Robbins’ forehead. He clenched and unclenched his hands, desperate for the drones to move faster. For the first time in his life, he felt hopeless.
Every second felt like a ticking bomb.
What use is a doctor if he can’t save his patients?
When the paramedics got there, the three iCars were ablaze. The bumpers obliterated. The side mirrors dangled from the sides of the wreckages.
The doctors rushed immediately to put out the fire and to help the victims of the crash.
Dr Robbins thought furiously.
*Alex Jonar. Male, age 32. Responsive to pain, has asthma and is allergic to peanuts.
“Go to the middle-aged male. Use the Nanoaids and bandage his wounds.” He commanded into his microphone.
He watched from the drone cameras as they carefully pulled the bleeding man onto the stretcher and delivered him to the hospital. Dr Robbins breathed a sigh of relief. Hope filled his chest and new optimism grew. Next patient.
*Sam Jonar. Male, age 70. Responsive to pain. Fractured bones in right leg.
*Milla Jonar. Female, age 31. Responsive to pain. Broken foot.
Alisha Smith. Female, age 16. Non-responsive, broken limbs in arms and legs.
For a brief second, he felt proud of himself. Even without the virtual assistant, he could do his job just fine.
But there was something wrong. Despite his orders, the paramedics weren’t doing anything. They seemed confused.
He tapped his microphone. There was no sound. No echo. No nothing.
Panic rose in his chest once again. The internet has completely crashed.
Lucy Mulligan. Female, age 16. Non-responsive. Head injury, second degree burns in –
This was not right. Surely, this was the order the online workspace had? Non-responsive, head injury, second degree burns? This was the most fatal injury.
He tapped on the drone camera again, and saw something in the corner of his eye.
Dr Clara Hayman.
He frowned. Why was she here?
He watched as she put the teenaged girls onto stretchers. Bandaged them up.
He watched, feeling small and powerless, feeling lost as nanoscreens, nanotrackers decided to abandon him here.
He felt even smaller as the owner of the hospital walked in, guilt washing over him.
“One of the girls – Lucy Mulligan, she passed.” His boss said, his voice quiet.
“But- you don’t understand! It wasn’t my fault! It was because of the online workspace, the nanotechnology! It crashed at the last moment.”
“No. It was your fault. It was your fault that you relied on it instead of doing your job.”